


three weeks

by metalbending



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 16:57:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5710030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metalbending/pseuds/metalbending
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“I forgive you,” he says to no one. He thinks about this. He forgives her for letting the explanations fall to him. He forgives her for needing time. He forgives her for everything and anything. He just wants to talk to her.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>or, post-season 2 mostly-ignoring-the-promos bellarke for my beb, em.</p>
            </blockquote>





	three weeks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thorleesi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorleesi/gifts).



Three weeks.

It’s been three weeks since Clarke returned. From what, though? Bellamy is afraid he’ll never know, never understand why she left, never fully open the communication channels he once took for granted. And he doesn’t want to pry, either. He’s not that kind of person. He never has been. He knows that this will only happen on Clarke’s timeline.

It’s only when he’s let his guard down that she comes to him. _Finally_. She’s been holed up in medical getting checked out, shuffled around to speak with her mother and Kane, then finally alone in her quarters, only coming out for meals. By all accounts, she’s fine. Just quiet. She’s been forthcoming with details, mostly reiterating what Bellamy and Monty had told everyone what happened.

_We got there, pulled the lever, and irradiated them. We had no choice._

They didn’t, and it was common knowledge, and they liked to pretend that it didn’t eat at them, but it did. Of course it did. Never having left, though, they dealt with it in their own ways, trying to reestablish some sort of routine for themselves. Eat meals together, do some rounds, maybe try to read, socialize, clean, take inventory. It helped. A little.

And for Clarke, it was numbness. There was no going through the motions. The motions hurt. Things, people, were all too close, too loud, too sharp. Nothing felt right. Her body moved sluggishly, making up for the overexertion of moving through the woods. Underneath it, her mind was constantly going, drowning her.

She’s back to her thoughts, sorting through them like files, and looks up at the door she’s come to. It’s Bellamy’s. She’s only a little surprised.

He’s sitting there reading, trying to enjoy his new routine. It doesn’t really matter what’s on the page as long as he’s filling his time. He puts down his book, not looking up.

“Hey, princess.”

She sits next to him with a thump and rests her head against the wall.

“Hey,” she says.

That’s all there is. That’s all they need for now. They sit silently together, still as the night. Bellamy turns out the lights and they fall asleep.

____________________

  
A day later and Bellamy clings to the memory of the closeness, the short distance of two hands that made the final decision, that attempted to share a heavy burden. Nobody has talked about it since. He attempted to return her forgiveness and she rebuked it by leaving. “I forgive you,” he tried, but the words dissipated between them.

“I forgive you,” he says to no one. He thinks about this. He forgives her for letting the explanations fall to him. He forgives her for needing time. He forgives her for everything and anything. He just wants to talk to her.

She’s thinking about her burden she added herself. It was her own fault, the decisions she made, and she’s still not sure about where it landed. Her bed, freshly made, is unmade in an instant when she collapses on top of it. She’s roused out of her misery when she hears her door open.

It’s Bellamy. Clarke notices his undereye circles, how he looks a little too thin, a little too pale. His breathing is even and his eyes are fixated on hers, steady as ever. “Where have you been?” he says.

“I can’t tell you,” she says. And she means it, really. She doesn’t want to say and despite everything, she wants to keep this secret. Allowing Bellamy a place on the lever was hard enough for her; nobody should have to bear these choices and it would be selfish of her to let him into her time away.

But he wants to know and pushes harder. “Clarke, where were you?” he asks again, all earnestness.

In response she turns on her side, back to him, silent, and he leaves.

____________________

 

It’s been a week since Bellamy came to her. Wandering around, she’s caught his eyes following her. She’s cried herself to sleep ever since, wishing she could tell him, waking up afraid, thinking she’s back in the woods.

Today she swings her legs over the side of the bed, feet planted firmly on the floor, determined to seek him out today. “Where were you?” How can she tell him? Is there any way it won’t sound ridiculous or suicidal or not completely revolting? No matter how he acts, she decides she can take it. She deserves his ire, not his pleading and sympathetic looks. _Everything we worked for…_

Steeling herself, she goes first to the mess. He’s not there. She grabs a plate of greens and sits, forcing herself to eat everything slowly. There is time to do this. There needs to be, at least, for her own sake. Despite her resolve, she’s nervous. Her breathing is shallow and her eyes dart around to see if he comes in. This situation would be better done and over with. Laughter rings out across the room. It’s Monty and Jasper sitting together with no Bellamy in sight. She finishes her meal, puts away her dishes, and goes to find him.

He’s sitting in the armory, organizing the store of ammunition, one of his favorite new pastimes. After the struggle of making their own, he’s comforted by the security of lots and lots of bullets. For what, he’s not sure, but it’s clear now to be better safe than sorry. Counting them keeps his hands and mind busy, a slight reprieve from the heaviness that’s settled over him. Clarke sees that his shoulders and face are relaxed. He’s calm. She hates herself for a moment, realizing she’ll break his reverie.

It has to be done.

“Bellamy,” she says.

He looks up, blinking slowly. “Clarke,” he responds.

“Can we talk?” She steps into the room.

He watches her, one elbow on his knee. “About what?” he says. He already tried to talk to her. It hurt more than he thought it would when she didn’t, couldn't, engage. Thinking about it now makes his face flush.

“What have you been up to?” she asks, instantly regretting it but the question hangs there anyway. She looks away, ashamed, arms swaying limply at her sides.

Bellamy’s eyes widen in frustration, knowing there’s more to say, that she wants to talk about something else. “Why are you really here, Clarke?”

“Nothing. Nevermind.” She blew it and she knows it. “Maybe another time.”

“Clarke, wait!” he says, but it’s too late. She’s already gone. He starts to go after her and the bullets clatter to the floor. He curses and slams his hands against the cages, kicking away the scattered ammunition. He sits down, lets his head loll onto his hands and breathes, completely shaken.

____________________

 

Bellamy gets up, pulls on some pants, and immediately goes to find Clarke. He knocks on her door.

“Come in,” she calls out.

He opens the door and finds her sitting on her bed. “I’m sorry,” he starts immediately. “I was frustrated about the other day.” They sit there in silence, Bellamy trying to find answers and Clarke trying to find absolution. “Are you still ready to talk?”

“I am,” she says, sitting up. She looks at him, at his searching eyes, all patience, and cries.

She rests her head on his shoulder and he turns to embrace her. “It’s okay now. What is going on?” He’s stroking her hair while sobs rack her body, her tears soaking the shoulder of his shirt. He sits there and holds her while she cries, her hands reaching up to touch his chest. The sudden proximity soothes them both and they find themselves finally able to truly relax.

Clarke pulls away, hands still on his chest. “I’m sorry,” she chokes out.

He laughs. “It’s okay. I have a few shirts.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she says, coughing out her own laugh. She takes another minute for her breathing to calm. “I’m a bad person, Bellamy.”

“We did what we had--”

“That’s only part of it,” she says, interrupting him. “Oh god, Bellamy…” she trails off, burying her face in her hands. “I left because I didn’t know what to do.”

He looks at her, waiting for her to go on. “That’s okay. I didn’t know what to do either and you’re back now. That’s what’s important.”

His patience unnerves her, making this somehow harder. “No. I realized what I wanted to do.”

He takes a deep breath. “And that was?” he asks.

“I went to find Lexa.”

The words hang between them, her insecurity blossoming anew as she assumes the worst of Bellamy’s expression. He knows what happened before the battle. All he has to say is, “And?”

Strangely, this brings relief. She had made herself expect the very worst. Disgust, revulsion, hatred, anything. And he’s curious? _No_ , she tells herself. _This will change when I tell him._

So she does. “I left and for a while I wasn’t sure what to do,” she explains haltingly. “First I was camping out trying to get away from all of this.” She waves her hands around as if to indicate Camp Jaha and everyone there. “I needed space from what happened on Mount Weather. I don’t think I was thinking straight when we came back and I needed time away from everyone.”

Clarke takes a steadying breath and Bellamy takes her hand in his, trying to assure her. He’s understood everything so far. He half wanted to run, too. Run from the days of fearing for his friends, from the explosions, from the death that he and others caused. There was too much of it, and he didn’t leave, but he understood. After all, he hadn’t stood in her way when she turned to go.

He nods to her to continue.

“It was only a few days after that I went to try to find Lexa’s new camp. She commanded them to let me into her tent. So I went in. And she was comfortable and I was so, so angry.” She pulls her hand away from Bellamy’s, clenching it into a fist. “I couldn’t believe how she could go on like things were completely normal after what we’d been through, after what she promised me. After what she made me sacrifice.”

Clarke still vividly remembers her sudden heart palpitations when Lexa came out of Mount Weather having struck a deal. Without her, without her people, at the expense of Clarke and Clarke’s people. Her hands start to sweat and her jaw clenches.

Bellamy grabs her hand again, covering her fist completely. “I know,” he says. “They told me what you did to keep me undercover. All those people.”

She nods, the grip of guilt slowly uncurling from her soul, her fresh anger freeing the rest of her story. “She was so sure I wasn’t a threat, Bellamy. After everything. Her weapons were out in the open. She tried to talk to me but I couldn’t. I grabbed a dagger and walked toward her. She didn’t even yell.” Clarke shakes her head in disbelief, remembering just how unthreatened Lexa felt and just how ineffectual she felt. “I held it to her throat. Bellamy, I was so, so close to killing her. I’m still so angry. I wanted to kill her right there and deal with the grounders outside, as long as I got vengeance.”

Her shoulders slump. “I didn’t, obviously,” she says, the ugly guilt taking hold of her again. “I don’t want to be that. I wasn’t in danger. I sought her out on my own. Vengeance isn’t mine to take, you know? I want to be better and I wasn’t and I keep failing.”

The tears are falling again as she feels Bellamy’s arms around her again. There is no sobbing. Instead there’s a quiet mourning of who she was before the war, what she valued, where her boundaries were drawn.

“I wanted to tell you but I hated myself,” she admits. “I didn’t want you to hate me, too. Not after you helped me the way you did up there.”

He looks down at her, both completely vulnerable, as he pulls away. “How could I hate you when you didn’t do anything?” he asks. “You could have, and by all accounts you should have, but you didn’t.”

She shakes her head. “No, I shouldn’t have.”

“Okay, maybe not, but either way, you didn’t.” He’s holding her by the shoulders, not letting her avert her gaze from him. “Being a leader is hard, remember? You made a hard choice. You’re not a bad person. This doesn’t have to change you.”

She wipes her eyes. She’s not sure, but it feels as if with time, she can let go of this darkness. Bellamy is her confidante for a reason; they’ve been navigating the waters of leadership together for months, testing each other and their people, their families, working as a team. Again, she can feel the pressure of guilt easing up, finally.

“You still forgive me?” she asks.

He leans down and presses his lips to her forehead. “If that’s what you need, I forgive you.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to hal for the helpful beta! i am Not A Writer so it was immensely helpful. <3 also WHAT ARE TAGS AND WHO IS FLYING THE PLANE.


End file.
